


Waltz for Mary and John

by gruener_regen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, His Last Vow alternate ending, Multi, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gruener_regen/pseuds/gruener_regen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Morstan chose to kill Sherlock and left her husband to find him. Cradled in John's arms, Sherlock chooses his last words with care.</p><p>Based on this post:<br/>http://bbcmartin.tumblr.com/post/84866982729/could-u-imagine-sherlock-dying-and-john-being-a</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltz for Mary and John

John felt the shot before he heard it. He wasn’t sure why, maybe those were just the senses he built up in his time in Afghanistan, but he knew what had happened.

Without giving the unconscious Janine on the carpet another glance, he jumped up, sprinting the way to his best friend. The Doctor tumbled to a halt on the carpet. The mirror on the wall had sprung into hundreds of pieces and between those pieces lay the consulting detective. His face was distorted by pain and the rapidly growing red stain stood in a sick contrast with the white shirt and the pale skin.

After a second of shock and silence, John’s legs started playing up. Wobbly he managed to step closer until his knees buckled and he fell down next to Sherlock. Just like the old days. He tore open the shirt with not as much routine as he would have liked. His hands weren’t as steady as he would have needed them and his vision was oddly blurry as he tore off his shirt and pressed it on the wound.

Curse his medical knowledge. What would he have given for the tiniest bit of hope? For once, just to be able to think that they might get through this. But it was obvious that without any supplies, John just couldn’t do anything and anyway, the bullet had torn through more than just flesh.

“Sherlock? Stay awake, okay? I’ll fix this. Just- just stay with me okay, goddammit?”

Sherlock’s lips curled upwards, the notion of a smile. A sad smile, held back by agony and despair. He lifted his right hand and John took it, shuffling forward and cradling Sherlock’s head in his lap.

“Look, I can’t just lose you now. I just got you back, okay? You can’t just… Fuck, Sherlock! You vowed you’d always be there for me!” John burst out, the tears starting to fall slowly. He rarely ever shed tears and he’d most certainly never done it In front of someone. He did it by himself, when he was alone. Sherlock shouldn’t see this. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t meant to see John like this.

Then Sherlock started humming. Soft, low tunes, barely audible but they brought memories. Bitter for Sherlock, sweet for John. It was John and Mary’s waltz. Slightly off key, deeper of course than the violin and much, much sadder.

‘Minor, John. Minor is the sad part of the music world. I prefer it over major.’ Sherlock’s voice in the back of his head reminded him with his lecturing tone.  
John closed his eyes and while his right hand still clung to Sherlock’s, he found his left hand driving through the dark curls, his thumb caressing the detective’s cheek. When he had finished the tune, Sherlock smiled, lifting his head off John’s lap as if to meet his friend’s face and whispered something into his ear.

With his last bit of strength he pulled himself upward, so that he was eye-to-eye with the ex-soldier. And then the sociopath started crying. Barely noticeable, no sobs, no frantic breathing, just a tear that rolled down his cheek. John stared at it, his hand holding Sherlock’s head up and he pressed their foreheads against each other when Sherlock’s body went limp.

John Watson didn’t notice the dead body of Magnussen behind them or the faint scent of Claire de la lune in the air, not even the paramedics who stormed into the flat and circled them trying to get the shirtless and confused men to let go of the corpse. Sherlock’s words still rang in his ears like bells at a ceremony. He doubted the melody would ever stop.  
“That was supposed to be our waltz.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, now that Magnussen is dead, John is obviously prime suspect. Maybe I'll do another chapter about that but I feel like it would hurt too much...


End file.
